The Game
by Gale Force
Summary: I'm a veteran of Avengers fan fiction, that'd be John Steed and Emma Peel, but I've decided to try my hand at CSI fiction. This is a story, in several chapters, about Gil Grissom and the new woman in his life, Morgan Fayne.
1. Chapter 1

The Game

By Gale Force

THIS STORY TAKES PLACE AFTER SARA LEAVES CSI,

BUT BEFORE WARRICK GETS SHOT.

**Chapter 1**: **At the baseball game**

Gil Grissom, night shift supervisor of the Las Vegas Crime Scene Investigation division, currently on a week-long trip to Minneapolis, Minnesota to attend a conference on forensic entomology, walked out of the Radisson Suites Hotel, where he was staying for the duration, and joined the throng of people walking down South 5th Street towards the Metrodome.

The Minnesota Twins were about to match up against the Boston Red Sox in a 1 pm matinee game, and he had a ticket in the front row, right along the third baseline.

As he walked, Grissom paid little attention to the people around him…he was wondering if his ex-colleague…and ex-fiance, Sara Sidle, would come visit him in Minneapolis as he'd requested, the last time they'd talked on the phone. She hadn't turned him down flat out…but she hadn't said yes, either. She'd "think" about it.

Grissom was used to people making decisions one way or the other, and he didn't like this new side of Sara…but he had to give her time. She'd been through a lot in the last year…and apparently finding comfort and strength through him hadn't been an option...

Don't think like that, Grisom told himself, sharply. When someone was undergoing a tremendous amount of psychological stress, their normal behavior patterns were disturbed, and they needed professional assistance - it was as simple as that. He mustn't let his hurt ego gnaw at him.

Grissom set the emotion aside..compartmentalized it...forgot about it.

Then he started paying attention to his surroundings.

He was back in his old stomping grounds… he'd been a CSI for Hennepin County for a couple of years, until the cold and snowy winters got to be too much for him and he'd requested a transfer…and got Las Vegas instead.

The streams of people were thicker now…clumps of teenagers, fathers with their sons, and occasionally their daughters, parents with the whole family, women…only occasionally a single person such as himself.

Most of them were wearing Twins caps, some carried foam fingers, others, more practical, carried baseball gloves, intent on bringing home a free souvenir if they possibly could.

Grissom passed by the crowds of people in front of the ticket kiosks, marveling as usual that so many people didn't plan ahead and pick up their tickets ahead of time to avoid such congestion. He'd had the concierge at his hotel order his ticket for him.

He came to the ticket takers and the turnstyles. Grissom handed over his ticket and walked into the Dome.

The Hubert H. Humphry Metrodome. A vast white marshmallow of a stadium, in the heart of Minneapolis, just blocks away from downtown. The Minnesota Vikings played here as well as the Twins…but baseball was Grissom's passion.

Grissom checked his watch…the game was scheduled to start in 15 minutes. Rather than wait in line at one of the many concession stands lining the concourse to buy a hotdog and a coke – one _had _to buy a hotdog and a coke at a baseball game – he decided to grab his seat and get his food the old-fashioned way, from the men and women vendors whose job it was to run up and down the rows of seats, calling out their wares.

Grissom found his seat and settled down. It was perfect - a perfect sight line to home plate, and the third baseman and third base coach were so close it was like they were practically on top of him.

The seats all around him were filled also, the seat right beside him in particular was filled…woman in her late twenties, he judged, dressed in a crisp, new-looking Twins jersey and black jeans, wearing a crisp new Twins cap, and a battered and much-used baseball glove in her lap. She had a perfect profile, a clear eye, a long, straight nose, and lips that were not too thin or too full. She was looking around as if she had the same idea in mind as he had - a red hot and a beer.

Turned out she wanted a hot dog and a coke instead.

After the tradition of foil-wrapped food being handed one way from person to person, and money being handed the other way had been completed, Grissom settled down to watch the game.

The woman beside him finished her hotdog, wiped her face and fingers tidily with a napkin, then pulled the glove onto her right hand, and held it in her lap as she sipped coke and concentrated on the game.

It happened in the third inning.

Jacoby Ellsbury, the lead-off hitter for the Red Sox, came up to bat. He'd bunted for a base hit in the first, promptly stole second and third, and trotted home on a sac fly.

He was left-handed…and typically it was when a left-handed hitter was at the plate that foul balls would come screaming into the stands on the third base line.

Grissom enjoyed watching the batters and their little rituals as they made themselves comfortable in the box, awaiting each pitch. He liked trying to estimate from their body language whether they were going to get a hit in that at-bat or not.

So his attention was all on Ellsbury when the pitcher went into his wind-up. There was a white blur going toward the plate, Jacoby swung, and suddenly there was a white blur in his direction.

In just a split second, Grissom had judged its trajectory. It was on a line drive, and it was going to hit the woman beside him right in the face.

Simultaneously, while Grissom lunged upward and sideways, the woman brought up her glove with the calmness of someone who'd played the game and had great reflexes as well.

The ball bounced off Grissom's left arm and the woman's glove, and upward into the stands, while the woman's coke cup bounced off his right arm and into her lap.

"Hey, watch it!" she cried, turning to look upward as the ball ricocheted from hand to hand and row to row above her. "I would've had that!"

Grissom dropped back into his seat. "I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't realize you had such good reflexes."

"Yeah, well, now you know," she grumbled, brushing ice off her lap with her free hand. Fortunately she'd drunk all the pop and had been merely saving the ice to crunch on. But some of it had melted and there was a wet stain on the dark fabric.

"Got a handkerchief?" she asked, calmly.

He handed his to her. "I'm sorry…" he started again but she waved her gloved hand negligently as she dabbed at her lap with the handkerchief. "Don't worry about it. The perils of sitting on the third-base line. I got a whole beer down my back at Coors Field. But at least there I also got the ball!"

Grissom laughed and relaxed. She was a true fan.

"I haven't been to a live game in years. I live in Nevada."

"I'm lucky, she replied, handing him back his handkerchief. "I travel around the States a lot. I've seen a game at every single major league stadium there is."

"I envy you," Grissom said with a smile. "That was one of my dreams as a boy." He extended a hand. "My name's Gil."

She took his hand in hers, shook it firmly. "Morgan. Morgan Fane."

Grissom raised an eyebrow. "Morgan Fane the actress?"

Her face lit up as if someone had just handed her that foul ball. "Yes! Don't tell me you've heard of me!"

"I read about your show in the paper this morning. The Minotaur. Opening tonight at the Actor's Theatre. I'm hoping to get to see it."

"I'd love for you to see it!" she said. "I'll even give you a couple of tickets for tonight if you like."

Grissom thought fast. The conference started tomorrow, and he'd intended to get in some reading beforehand…but…

"I'll only need one ticket," he said with a smile. "I'm here alone."

"One ticket it is then. It'll be for Gil, at the box office."

"Thank you."

His head jerked round at the crack of the bat. While they'd been talking, Ellsbury had singled, Pedroia had struck out, and David Ortiz had just hit a home run.

"Augh." said Grissom.

They spent the rest of the game talking baseball. He was a Twins fan, she was more a fan of individual players...they talked games and plays and players.

It was 4 o'clock when the game ended, and they walked out into the sunshine together.

"Would you like to go somewhere for a snack?" Grissom asked.

"No, thanks. It's time I was getting to the theatre. I shouldn't have even been here at all on opening night, but I'm glad I was."

Gil smiled. "Me, too."

"Well," she smiled, stuck out a hand. "See you later."

Grissom watched her stride briskly down the sidewalk and out of sight, then he turned and headed back toward his hotel.

He was looking forward to tonight.


	2. Chapter 2

**The Game**

**By Gale Force**

THIS STORY TAKES PLACE AFTER SARA LEAVES CSI,

BUT BEFORE WARRICK GETS SHOT.

**Chapter 2: The Play**

Gil Grissom had been given the best seat in the house… middle of the row, third row from the stage, in the small, intime setting of the Actor's Theatre. The house was only two-thirds full, which was a pity, Grissom thought, as the play he as watching was fascinating and Morgan Fane's acting was captivating.

He'd read her brief biography in the playbill while waiting for the performance to start - she had indeed traveled all over the country, appearing in regional theaters in a wide variety of performances, from the women of Shakespeare to Chekov to avant-garde pieces of the present day.

But her acting...it was Broadway-worthy, to say the least. The vast array of emotions on display...incredible.

_The Minotaur _was two one-act plays, connected by a framing story.

Playwright James Cross -- happily married to another playwright, Gabrielle Cross -- has written his version of the Greek myth of Ariadne, Theseus and the Minotaur, which, as the play opens, he finishes reading to his wife.

In the legend, Theseus the Greek journeys to the island of Crete, at a time when Crete ruled the waves, and Greece had to send a yearly tribute of 7 male and 7 female virgins to the island, where they would be thrust into the Labyrinth to be hunted down and killed by the Minotaur. (The Minotaur was a creature half-man and half-bull, conceived when the Queen of Crete, Pasiphae, had fallen in love with a bull, and her court inventor, Daedalus, had "crafted for her the form of a cow, inside of which she might allow the bull to satisfy his passion.")

Gabrielle criticizes her husband's version, commenting that although it did indeed feature Ariadne as the main character, it still told the story from a man's point of view. And she reveals that she had been reading James' play while he'd been writing it - and written her own version of it which she felt was a more accurate portrayal of the iconic figure.

Husband and wife made a deal - breaking the fourth wall in the process - they will each perform their one-act versions of the play, and let the audience decide.

First, James Cross' version was performed, with James playing Theseus and his wife, Gabrielle, playing Ariadne.

Ariadne, the daughter of King Minos and Queen Pasiphae, and a priestess of the matriarchal religion that rules Crete, sees a vision of Theseus in an augury. She learns that with his arrival he will bring destruction to the Cretan civilization. Nevertheless, she falls in love with him in that vision, and rather than try to fight against the Fate she accepts it wholeheartedly, and sacrifices everything - her family, her friends, her culture - for her love of him. She not only gives him the thread that allows him to find his way into and out of the Labyrinth, but a sword with which to kill the beast. She does this, despite the fact that the augury shows that Theseus, once he has gotten what he needed from her, will abandon her on an island and cold-heartedly sail away to Greece, leaving her to live or die to the whims of fate.

The moral is clear, according to James Cross:

"All women contrive their own passions, and all men use them for their own ends. If a woman considers herself destined to be loved (and what woman does not?) she will provide the required condition of her passion, if, of course, she is in a position to control any part of her own life. Women long to help men, to be loved by them, to be carried off to ancillary destinies."

During the intermission, Grissom went into the lobby for a glass of wine, and learned that there was to be a reception after the play, for audience and actors to mingle and talk. He wondered if Morgan hadn't mentioned that, on the off-chance that if he didn't like the play, he wouldn't feel obligated to stay afterwards and make uncomfortable small talk.

Well, so far he was loving it.

Then the second one-act play began. There was no prelude this time, it went right into the opening of the play.

Ariadne, once more, was staring out a window, into the harbor beyond. Once again, her first words, to the Court Inventor Daedalus standing beside her, were: "He is coming tonight. One more day of waiting."

Grissom caught his breath, as he absorbed Morgan's new character. In the first version, the way she'd said those words, and her entire physical demeanor, had been one of anticipation, eagerness and wild desire.

But not this time. This time, her voice was tinged with fear, with desperation. Her body was rigid with it.

The intruder, Theseus, was about to appear in paradise. Just as in James Cross' version, Ariadne had seen the arrival of Theseus in the Augury. But while attraction for his physical features had caught her eye...she knew full well what his arrival portended...but how could she stop it? How could she save her family, her friends, her culture?

Daedalus advised her of the plan of submission – give Theseus "the thread of the Labyrinth; he would then kill the Minotaur but not, it was to be hoped, her or her mother or sister. Greek men were violent, rapists, triumphant over women and weaker men whenever possible. Thwarted, Theseus might kill her whole family, seize the holy double ax, and murder everyone along with the Minotaur. Her only chance was to appear to have anticipated, with the fullest possible girlish glee, his coming. This was the only chance of escape, foe her, for her mother Pasiphae, her sister Phaedre, and the priestesses.

Her Crete was a civilization that feared the violence and brutality of foreign men. Crete was a matriarchy in the sense that the priests and the queen were women, bt the men flourished as well…they knew that other nations, in particular Greece, honored male brutality and cruelty, and sent its men to find their rewards for war in the rape and carnage and destruction of other lands.

The yearly tribute of seven male and seven female virgins were not sacrifices to the Minotaur, but rather welcomed strangers added to the life of Crete.

But now the Greeks were coming, and Daedalus warned her: Crete would be conquered, there was no chance of avoiding that. The old ways were gone, women would be enslaved or made into objects of male desire, largely powerless.

There was no hope but to let Theseus believe that he had conquered easily, conquered because of Ariadne's lust for him. He would take her and Phaedra away. Phaedra, in later years, would cause Theseus to kill his son…thus preventing much blood-shed. Ariadne, meanwhile, would throw a fit of madness such that Theseus would abandon her on a nearby island, where one day she could return to Crete."

"Will your plan work, Daedalus?" Ariadne asked her advisor, voice trembling.

"I do not know, Princess. But I believe it is our only hope. It all depends on you. If you can convince that man of your desire for him. And convince him to leave you behind once he sails away with the spoils of his victory."

"Not certain to succeed," Ariadne whispered, "but certain to try."

_What an actress_, Grissom thought to himself. Morgan as Ariadne was walking a fine line. Her fear radiated from her, even as she hid it under a veneer of the anticipation and eagerness that she'd used in her first characterization. It was a masterful display.

As the lights went dark at the end of the play, then rose for the actor's current call. The audience rose to their feet as one, clapping and shouting. Grissom rose as well, smiling broadly, and felt obscurely pleased when Morgan's eyes sought him out she bowed toward him.

A few minutes later the actors were in the lobby, along with members of the audience, being treated to a glass of champagne.

Grissom made his way to the lobby, looking for Morgan. And saw her talking to a couple of people. She looked up and caught his eye, excused herself, and came over to him.

"Gil," she said, smiling.

"You were wonderful, Morgan," he said in his soft, calm voice. "Your performance was a tour de force."

"Thank you. I thought it went pretty well, myself."

"The program said you got the idea from Amanda Cross. I've read that writer."

"Yes, in her book _The Players Come Again_. She had it all set out in there. Ever since I read it I thought it would make a great play, and would be a great piece for a female actress to show her range."

Grissom nodded. "It certainly does that. I think drama schools around the country will want to put that piece in their repertoire, just for that purpose."

"I'm so glad you think so. That's my dream, anyway."

They spoke for a few more minutes, than Grissom said, "I'd better let the rest of your admirers get a word in edgewise. I've got to go."

"Thanks again for coming."

"I wish I could come again..I'd love to see it again... and you. But I'm here for a conference, and I doubt if I'll be able to get away."

"Perhaps we could meet for lunch?"

Grissom smiled. "I'd like that." He reached into an inner pocket, and withdrew his business card, which was complete with his cellphone.

"Please call me, if you'd like. Now, I must go."

He touched her arm, then turned and walked out of the lobby.

Morgan looked down at the card. She read the words on it, and her forehead creased. "Crime Scene Investigation," she said, musingly.

Very thoughtfully, she tucked the card away, then turned smilingly toward another well-wisher.

**NOTE**

**Much of the text of the Minotaur play was written by Amanda Cross in the mystery novel, **_**The Players Come Again**_**. I take the liberty of letting my character, Morgan, turn it into a play of her own (as it has long been a goal of mine to do so, but I just don't have the skill to write it!**


	3. Chapter 3

**The Game**

**By Gale Force**

THIS STORY TAKES PLACE AFTER SARA LEAVES CSI,

BUT BEFORE WARRICK GETS SHOT.

**Chapter 3: The Conference**

"Grissom, nice to see you again," said David Bellecourt, a CSI from the Hennepin County Crime Lab, and Grissom's old supervisor.

"David."

The two men shook hands.

"Let's grab some coffee and get some seats down front," David said. "There were some points in your last article in the _Journal of Forensic Science _I wanted to discuss with you..."

Grissom spent the day talking shop with various members of the 1000-strong audience from around the country who had gathered together to discuss the latest findings in forensics.

At the end of the evening, David and Grissom talked about old times over dinner. As they were settling up the bill , David said, "Grissom, I wonder if you'd like to come down to the office with me...during the lunch break tomorrow, maybe. I've got a case I'd like your input on."

Grissom raised an eyebrow. "Sure, David. Something special?"

"Well, nothing in the entomology line that you're so fond of...but in the literary line..that's something else again."

"You intrigue me," said Grissom.

David grinned. "I thought I would."

The next day, David drove them to the CSI headquarters, and escorted Grissom into his office. Grissom settled down in the comfy chair opposite David's desk.

David unlocked and opened a desk drawer, and brought out a sheet of paper and a large, clear envelope. He handed the paper to Grissom.

"This is the text...I"ll show you the originals in a second. Tell me what you make of it."

Grissom leaned back in the chair while simultaneously putting on his glasses. Then he looked at the typewriting on the paper.

"'Oh, some play games for" he read aloud.

His forehead creased in thought. "'Oh, some play games for..." he repeated. Then he shook his head. "Doesn't ring a bell."

David nodded. "Okay, here's the originals. Put these gloves on."

He tossed a pair of white gloves to Grissom, who put them on and then stood over David's desk. David put on a pair himself, then opened the clear envelope and poured the contents onto a white blotter pad on the desktop.

"Five white cards," Grissom said, "business card size." He turned over the ones that had not landed face up, and arranged them. Each one had a word printed in the exact center. Grissom looked up at David. "Interesting."

He looked back down at the cards, thinking aloud as was his wont when he had an audience. "The first card has a quotation mark, and then the word Oh and then a comma. The other cards just have a word with no punctuation. "'Oh, some play games for"

Well, it's obviously a quote or a quotation of some kind."

David nodded. "Yes. But whatever it is , it's so esoteric. We've searched through Roget's book of Quotations, on the Internet, we can't find anything that matches it."

Grissom sat back down. "Fill me in, David. What's this all about?"

"It started about three years ago. First vic was a Caucasian male, found in the back of an alley off of Hennepin Avenue. Neck broken. CSI processed the scene, police worked on it, no leads, nothing. A week later, that first card came in the mail. The envelope was addressed to "Whoever is in charge of the Louis Simmons investigation." That was the name of the vic, Louis Simmons. There was a single sheet of paper, typewritten, in the envelope as well. That said, "This should have been left on his body."

Grissom raised an eyebrow. "So these cards have been left on the bodies of murder victims?"

David nodded. "All but the first one, that was mailed to us."

"So you've had five vics so far."

"Yep. Four men, one woman. All Caucasian. All of them shot, by the same weapon, except our first vic. Intervals vary... one was six months later, two happened within weeks of each other... Places vary. The woman was shot in her own home, as was one of the men. The others were shot in back alleys...in downtown Minneapolis."

"Did they have anything else in common?"

"No. They didn't know each other, didn't use the same stores, anything like that. Two of them were ex-cons, the other three weren't."

Grissom stood back up, picked up the very first card, looked at it.

"Tell me about the first vic," he said.

"Louis Simmons. He wasn't an ex-con, but he deserved to be. Beat up on a girlfriend a couple of times - she'd always refused to press charges. We found him in the back alley behind Sarkowski's Bar. Neck broken. We processed the scene. Looked like there'd been a fight, and he came out on the losing end."

"How so?"

"Well, there were fresh scratches on his knees, and the knees of the trousers had been torn, as if he'd been on his knees for some reason. But because of the angle of the break of the neck, it wasn't that he was on his knees with someone standing beside him. Instead, it was clear that he was holding someone else down...you know, straddling them with his knees and trying to hold their arms down, but whoever it was got his arms free, reached up and broke Louis' neck."

"While still in a prone position?"

David nodded. "We could tell from the way the neck was broken. The perp grabbed him by the hair with one hand, pulling and twisting, and shoved under his jaw at just the right angle with the other hand, breaking the neck."

"That would've taken some skill and knowledge of anatomy."

"Probably," said David. "More likely skill than blind luck. Anyway, by the angle of the break, we deduced the killer was most likely left handed. And that's all we know about the perp."

"No scratches, no other marks of violence on the vic?"

"No."

"So..." said Grissom thoughtfully. "The first killing is unpremeditated. Our perp is attacked by the victim for some reason. Vic has the upper hand, perp turns the tables and kills him. Then, the perp decides to start killing more people, an easier way. With a gun. And laying claim to each death."

David nodded.

"Or," said Grissom rubbing his chin. "The perp tells someone _else _what went down, and that person decides to lay claim to that victim, and do some killing on _his _own. Tell me..."

"Yes?"

"You said Simmons beat up on his girlfriend. Did she have an alibi for the time of his death?"

"No. Said she was in her apartment alone. No witnesses to confirm that, but no one saw her in any of the bars near where he'd been found, either. Also, when she was interviewed she was in those tiny shorts they wear nowadays, and a tank top. The cops got a good look at lots of skin, and there wasn't a mark on her. She had long fingernails, too - which would have marked the vic..."

"Unless they were fake, put on after she'd done the deed. Women do put on fake fingernails, you know."

David grimaced at him. "We talked to her salon stylist in the course of our investigation. They were her own nails. Never been broken."

Grissom shrugged and grinned. "Just a suggestion."

"So, what do you think?"

"I need to think some more. Could I get copies of the reports on all the deaths?"

"Sure, Gris." David returned to the desk drawer, brought out several files. "I had 'em ready and waiting."

Grissom took the stack of folders. "I'll go over them tonight."

"Whatever you can do." David said soberly. "Whoever this is, he's going to keep killing."

Grissom nodded. "Until his quote runs out. And it seems like it's going to be a long one."


End file.
